grunted and turned away, walking to the edge of the sea and staring out across the waves. ‘Where are they?’ he hissed, exasperation heavy in his tone. He jerked round, his hand reaching for the crossbow slung across his back. Dunes separated the beach from the land beyond, and movement there had caught the edge of his vision.
Boar rose from his crouch with an exaggeratedly casual air and glanced lethargically across the sand. ‘It’s only Barak,’ he said. ‘You are a jumpy old woman.’
Ignoring him other than to murmur, ‘Better jumpy than dead,’ Galen walked towards the approaching figure, a small wiry man but no less festooned with weaponry than his two comrades. Boar spat forcibly and muttered unintelligibly. Brann guessed it was not a compliment. He also noticed that, whatever Boar had said, he had waited until Galen had moved beyond earshot before passing his low-pitched comment.
Barak reached Galen before the tall warrior had moved more than a dozen paces from the group and skidded to a halt. He nodded a greeting to the other two. ‘Light the signal,’ he said simply in a hoarse voice. ‘They’ll be round the headland in minutes.’
‘Not before time.’ Galen crouched beside the firewood and, in seconds, had sparked it to life. A trail of smoke quickly reached towards the clouds.
Barak looked at the bedraggled group chained before him. ‘An extra one.’ It was said as a statement, but it was clearly a question.
‘Boar,’ Galen said, without looking up.
Barak grunted, obviously needing no more explanation.
Boar roughly dragged the chain upwards, effortlessly pulling two boys clear off the ground. Not wishing the same treatment, the others stood by themselves as quickly as cramped legs allowed. The burly warrior barked a harsh and unpleasant laugh and started to pull on the chain to lead the captives to the edge of the sea. ‘Time for a lovely voyage, lads!’ he cried, revelling in their anguish. ‘Bet you never thought you’d get the chance to see distant shores and exotic lands.’
A ship, sleek and nimble, swept around the narrow rocky peninsula that formed one side of the bay. Its mast bare of sail, it cut through the water, driven by a single bank of oars on either side that rose and fell in perfect time to a relentless drumbeat. As it pointed itself directly at the smoke, Boar dragged the captives into the water, while Galen – who had kicked sand over the fire as soon as the ship had responded to the signal – and Barak kept pace at either side.
A double-beat of the drum was followed by a barked shout of instruction and the oars reversed their stroke for three long sweeps, churning and foaming the water and seeming to stop the craft almost immediately.
The wading group had reached deeper water and started, in their haste, to lose their footing. Brann, spitting out an unwelcome mouthful of water, looked ahead to see archers gather in two small groups at the prow and stern. Galen shouted urgently to the boys, ‘Kick your legs. We’ll pull you along. Just concentrate on keeping your faces above the water.’
None of them wanted to go to the ship, but the consequence of defiance was drowning. As if to inadvertently prove the point, one of the boys, obviously not a swimmer, panicked and started to thrash in the water, dropping quickly beneath the surface. With a pointed lack of haste, Boar moved over and dragged him up.
‘There’s always one,’ he moaned. ‘Why can’t you pathetic farm boys all make sure you can at least float?’
He grabbed the back of the spluttering boy’s tunic and held him clear of the water. For all of the man’s obnoxious traits, Brann could not help but marvel at his brute strength. It’s just a pity about the ‘brute’ part of it, he thought. All three of the warriors seemed oblivious to the weight of the host of weapons encumbering each of them as they swam, but to have the ability, as Boar was casually demonstrating, to support a mostly grown boy with one hand at the same time was more than impressive. Brann resolved that, for as long as he was in this predicament and in Boar’s company, he would keep quiet and try not to attract attention. Where Boar was concerned, the only consequences seemed to be harmful ones.
A net was thrown over the side to help the swimmers from the water. Hands reached down to pull them aboard, and the three warriors followed in an instant, hardly out of breath. A hoarse voice bawled ‘Row!’ and, as the drum started to sound, the three men on each oar bent their backs. With a beauty in its precision, the oars on each side rose and fell in a single motion and the ship seemed to leap forward.
As they picked up speed, a party of around a dozen horsemen, each with a short cavalry bow held ready in his hand, thundered onto the beach, drawn by the smoke of the signal fire. Brann realised why Galen had smothered the flames as they were leaving: it had seemed like a waste of time when the men were otherwise consumed by urgency but, in dissipating the tell-tale smoke as, unknown to them, the riders had been closing, he had made it slightly harder to pinpoint their exact location and had bought them precious time. If they had still been in the water when the men had arrived, they would have been as soft targets as there could be. He harboured no notion that the horsemen would have bothered about the boys in the water if they had a chance of striking back at any of the hated raiders.
Several of the horsemen leapt from their mounts even before the animals had come to a halt and, with the speed of professional soldiers, nocked arrows and let fly. The ship, however, had already cleared the range of the short bows and the volley dropped short.
With a shout and a gesture, one of the riders stopped the bowmen, realising the futility of the action and thinking, perhaps, of the cost of arrows and a quartermaster’s ire. Several of the group hurled furious insults at the retreating boat, their cries just audible above the creaking of the oars, the slapping of water against the hull, the grunting of the rowers and the thumping of the drum. Within seconds, they could be heard no more.
Galen stood at the rail, staring impassively back at the shore. ‘Soldiers,’ he said in a low tone. ‘A whole squad. See how quickly they came to the fire, lads?’ He nudged with his foot the boy who had complained. ‘Now you know why you stayed cold.’ He threw down a bundle of towels onto the deck beside them. ‘Now strip. Dry yourselves.’
Several of the boys looked hesitant at the thought of disrobing in public. Galen chuckled. ‘There is no modesty at sea. Dry yourselves or you’ll sicken. Don’t worry – I’ll let you keep the towels until your clothes have dried.’
Their sodden garments were taken and hung on a line near to the captives. The sun was beginning to climb in a sky that was largely unencumbered by clouds and, with the added help of the sea breeze, it would not be long until they could dress once again.
The ship hit deeper water, and Brann began to notice the feeling of the slow rise and fall as it rode the swell. A shout from the stern prompted several men to busy themselves with unfurling the sail on the single mast. Once the fresh wind caught in the canvas, causing it to flap and crack for a few moments before it swelled forwards, the drummer banged twice and a square-headed man with close-cropped grey hair bellowed, ‘Ship oars!’
With a rumble surprising in its brevity, the long oars were dragged on board and fastened into position. The rowers stretched muscles, settled more comfortably on their benches and caught their breath after the burst of hard exercise. The short intense nature of their effort had not allowed them to gain a second wind and, in the manner of men who knew not when their services would be called upon next, they seized without hesitation the chance to recuperate.
Brann sat on the deck and huddled against the other captives in the broad aisle that ran between the rowers. He hugged his knees to his chest, staring down at the planks of the deck. The wood was worn smooth, but was solid and tight-fitting; even that small detail suggested a quality ship, expertly crafted and carefully maintained. The easy confidence and efficiency of the men aboard, and the quality and condition of their weapons and clothing, added to the impression that he was among anything but a rag-tag group of outlaws and bandits. These were professionals, skilled and experienced – and Brann was unsure whether that was a good or a bad thing.
On one hand, he felt that his safety, while not admittedly at an all-time